


Reasonable Doubt

by provencepuss



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:05:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provencepuss/pseuds/provencepuss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from Hutchinson for Murder one</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasonable Doubt

**Reasonable Doubt**

  

_This is a missing moment (or two) from Hutchinson for Murder One)_

Beyond all reasonable doubt'; that's what they tell the jury, if they have a reasonable doubt they should not vote guilty. 

So, Detective Sergeant Second Class Starsky, what's your jury saying? 

What kind of question is that? Hutch is my friend; my _best_ friend. The brother I wish I had; an older brother even though I have nearly six months up on him. My buddy; my soul-mate who picked me up and carried me into the back room of a restaurant instead of letting me bleed in front of the others. The guy who saw me through when I lost Terri and who helped me come to terms with Helen's death too. Hutch, who kept me going when I had some kind of poison running through my veins. Hutch, my best friend. 

Yeah yeah , but that's subjective evidence; what about the facts? 

He called me and he was in shock. Van was dead.   That's all he told me  that Van, his ex-wife, was dead. 

  

Van; Vanessa Mayhew-Hutchinson, ex-socialite and first class grade A, twenty four carat bitch, if Hutch's description was anything to go by.   She walked out on him because being a cop's wife was beneath her; and walked back into it yesterday. 

Hutch agreed to meet with her, but what the fuck was she doing in his apartment. 

Dumb question Starsky  he still had a flame for her. I saw a photo once and I'm not surprised; long glossy dark hair; perfect symmetric oval face and legs up to her armpits. I guess it was a little fling for old times' sake. 

I didn't even ask him how she died. I mean my immediate reaction was along the lines of aw shit Hutch needs me! So I was in the Torino and on the way to Venice before he had time to hang up. 

  

She was lying on the badly cared for wood floor in Hutch's place. I'm always telling he should wax it a little to stop stains if he drops something.   Ok, so I'm a neatness freak and he's a slob  but like I said, he's my best friend.   There she was wearing one of his shirts and not much else; it was the big pool of blood that made it look more like a photo from a snuff magazine than Playboy. And Hutch's gun was still warm. 

  

I had to think fast. 

First thing to do was calm him down. Oh he wasn't hysterical but I could see the shock was taking hold. He was pale and shaky.   I went straight to the cupboard under the counter where he tries to hide the sipping whisky and poured him a good slug. 

I pushed it across the table and said drink it'. He took it and gulped at it like a drowning man trying to get a breath before going under again. 

  

He came home from a jog and found her like that. 

I asked him why she was there.   Turned out she was due at the hospital for tests in the morning and she begged a bed off him. She must have known he only had the one bed. Well I have a great sense of smell and all I could smell was cordite; so I guess Hutch slept on the couch. 

It didn't look good. 

  

IA didn't think it looked good either. _They_ thought that it looked like Hutch had killed her. I preferred to believe my partner.   For one, when I got there he was sweaty and I could smell his sport socks through his sneakers. For, two, why would he have gone for a run before calling me if he'd killed her? Dobey made him turn his gun and badge and he went home. 

  

On the other hand he hated her guts. He told me about her a few times when we first met. They were still married back then but she was kicking up a fuss about him being at the Academy. He'd curl his lip and pitch his voice and repeat what she said. I thought when you said you were going to learn about the law you meant Pepperdine not the Police Academy .   And, If you really want to fight crime, why not finish your degree and work for the DA? And the best of the lot How do you expect me to pay for my manicure on the pittance you bring home? 

She represented everything he left behind when he quit Duluth ; but he brought her with him. He was still in love, that's the only excuse he could find when I asked him why. 

Yeah but he didn't hate her guts so much he'd spill them on his kitchen floor for chrissakes . 

  

Simonetti and Dryden are a pair of assholes.   You work with someone all the time you get to anticipate them; and you share a joke or a moment of fear. I don't think those two would even share a packet of potato chips. They don't understand us; the certainly don't like us! We're too unconventional for them. They stand there in their neat suits and stare at the way Hutch and I dress like we are some kind of extra-terrestrials.   Nothing would give them more pleasure than to bring us down. 

Simonetti and Doyle don't believe Hutch is innocent. There are IA guys who are ready to defend a cop and there are others who take pleasure in wrecking another cop's career. You can see it on the sneer on Simonetti's face that these two are definitely in the second category.   They want to hang Hutch out to dry and if they can find a reason to peg me on the line beside him they will. 

  

And I'm doing just about the right thing to give them that reason. 

I'm driving up to Wheeler's house with a rock in a velvet pouch. 

And I'm doing it because, ladies and gentlemen of my internal jury, I have no doubt that Ken Hutchinson is innocent of murder one.  


  


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